


Same Old Scene

by Blucifer



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Chan is hyperfocused in the studio, Changbin thinks its sexy, Come Eating, Hand Jobs, Jisung's low blood sugar, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Snowballing, my take on the classique 3racha in studio scenario, needy changbin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blucifer/pseuds/Blucifer
Summary: Chan's voice remains calm, even with Changbin's hand on his dick. “Han? Can you take care of this for me?”
Relationships: Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 299





	Same Old Scene

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter @missbluniverse

It’s a scene so classic that it's become a cliche. The musician really, really wants to make sweet love to his baby, but  _ can’t  _ because the beat is just too  _ sick.  _ After all, it might up and die during the night if he leaves. And his baby? His baby just wants to suck their dedicated, musician boyfriend’s dick, but  _ can’t  _ because he’s working.

Like, as soon as cavemen started making bamboo flutes and drums there  _ other _ were cavemen and cavewomen waiting for that dope dick. But even when those cavemen, with their drums and flutes started pulling the hottest cave groupies, they never, ever forgot that it was all about the music. They turned down all sorts of weird, kinky cave shit because they had to practice, or like, go invent stringed instruments or whatever. Lit like their campfires, their passion burned. Because of that, evolution and shit took over and led them to this very point in time in Seoul where three of the best musicians repeated that same old scene. 

Well kinda. 

Changbin spits venom like a cobra and writes love songs like he’s an undercut Casanova. Those are just facts. But his greatest strength is his achilles heel, cause he’s got it bad for two people that are just as dedicated to the hustle as he is. So Changbin is the artist, and Changbin is the dejected muse. One fuels the other, and the cobra eats his own tail. 

Changbin has already unhinged his jaw, and is well on his way to swallowing. 

Metaphorically speaking. 

It’s just that Chan is so fucking sexy when he’s bossy, even if he’s doing nothing more than his job. “Changbin,” eyes trained on his notes app looking over the lyrics, hand absentmindedly resting on his thigh. Even when Chan is focused, he’s touchy. “Can you run through this again?” It’s just simple instruction as they try to get everything right, but sometimes he gets so hyper focused on picking apart the chords and the lines that he creates...Well, it’s  _ nice  _ to get told what to do. 

He doesn’t even really know that it’s happening. Honest. Scoot in closer. Return Chan’s touches, squeeze his bicep, drape himself across the back of the chair, rest his chin in Chan’s shoulder. Wrap his arms around Chan’s neck and breathe in the familiar scent of Chan’s cologne. 

It’s not like he wants to leave Han out. Quite the opposite. It’s just that his  _ other  _ boyfriend has his phone in one hand and a stack of Oreos in the other. He’s entered this kind of glucose induced trance. In the zone, they’re not gonna make contact until he’s out on the other side with a verse and a hook put to paper.

He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. Not really. Until Chan’s voice, firm and tinged around the edges with irritation calls to him, “Changbin?” 

Oh. 

His hand has traveled to Chan’s inner thigh. His mouth is pursed, ever so slightly against the lobe of his ear, cold earrings interrupting hot skin. 

He’s absolutely sporting a semi. In some ways he’s grateful that the chair back conceals it. On the other hand, he wants very much to press it against the small of Chan’s back. Make it known that Chan does this to him without even trying. 

“Channie,” he husks into his boyfriend's ear. He’s not going to break him off a piece, and that’s really not fair. Jisung runs on chocolate cookies, and gummy rings, and snack cakes, and orange soda. Changbin runs on lingering touches, soft caresses, and sloppy quick orgasms. Why one is acceptable in the studio and the other isn’t is beyond Changbin, especially given the amount of crumbs Jisung leaves behind when he woodchips his way through an entire sleeve of Oreos. 

Maybe he’ll know when he finds out what it is that Chan runs on, because even after all these years he still hasn’t cracked it, and Chan remains a machine. 

But Chan is their  _ leader,  _ and he takes care of them. Han’s slamming his cookies, and if Changbin’s gonna come back into the fold on this one, write the bridge or tweak the baseline, he’s gonna need to be taken care of. 

And what he needs right now is Chan’s calloused hand on his cock. He needs Chan’s foreskin pulled over the head of his dick, because Chan  _ just  _ taught him about docking and it’s really the coolest thing ever. 

“I can’t help it. You’re so sexy when you’re working.” 

Chan’s noncommittal grunt is really all he needs to hear to know what the answer is, but he wants Chan to  _ tell him _ what the answer is. So he trails his hand inward from Chan’s thigh, closer to his crotch. Chan closes his legs and pushes his chair backwards. 

“Han?” Chan’s voice remains calm, even though Chanbin knows he’s caused a crack. Brow furrowed, he focuses on his mixing software. “Can you take care of this for me?” It’s more of a statement than it is a question.

It irritates Changbin even though he demands to be babied by his team. He’s not a crashed computer or frozen software; he’s not a problem to be solved. Changbin is also surprised that Chan reprimanded him first. There’s crumbs littered everywhere and Chan likes things  _ neat.  _

Jisung looks up at them both and swallows thickly. Pulled from the rushing river of flow, it takes him a few moments to understand what’s unfolded right next to him. 

The very best part? Changbin knows that Chan’s words, terse and impersonal, have had an effect on Han too. Pow, straight to the dick like a money shot. 

Changbin sees a great opportunity here to get what he wants and fuck with Han. “I don’t want him. I want you.” Changbin pouts into Chan’s shoulder. 

Of course Han fires right back, “I dunno. I’m kind of on a roll.” 

Chan corrects himself, “Can you please take care of this when you’re finished?” There’s always a lull after the initial writing. Chan does some tinkering with the instrumentals, and then the whole process of picking each other’s work apart starts anew. 

“That’s not very nice Han,” Changbin pouts. Nevermind the fact that he said he  _ only  _ wanted Chan. Saying otherwise serves a purpose now so he does it. 

Han waves his hand dismissively as he writes. It’s neither a yes or a no, and it’s so unfair that they treat him this way when  _ he  _ was the one that did the hard work of coming up with a top line and a first verse to begin with. 

Changbin fills this tense silence between by trying to sexily eat one of Han’s Oreos. It may, or may not be successful. 

After some time, Han rises, walks past Chan, and steps into Changbin’s space demanding his attention. Nipping at his neck and the lobe of his ear, Han quickly undoes that effortless sexiness with a canned line. “Changbin, you did eat some of my snacks, so, it’s only fair I get a bite, right?” 

For Changbin, there’s no bigger thrill than saying, “no” even when he’s the one making demands. 

But Jisung cups Changbin’s hand, and it’s all fucking over. It goes straight to his dick when Jisung strokes his lower lip with his thumb. “C’mon baby. Let me take care of you and let Chan do his thing.” 

“Fine--” Changbin rises with a huff. Together they move to the small loveseat in the back of the cramped studio room. 

“Thank you,” Chan speaks to Jisung, but doesn’t even bother looking up at them. 

And with those two little words, Changbin directs all that thirst onto Jisung like he’s a cold glass of lemonade. Fingers in his jacket, he pulls him in for a kiss. Shuffle-bump-push, Jisung falls onto the loveseat, and Changbin falls between his knees. 

Yeah, if Han just thought he was gonna jerk him off real fast and get back to work, he’s got other plans. It’s not that he  _ doesn’t  _ want to suck off Han and make him feel good, but...Chan’s married to the music. Changbin can be a vengeful mistress. Chan would never admit jealousy or regret, but it doesn’t mean that Changbin can’t pull those feelings from him. 

And Han? A lot of guys wouldn’t like it if their boyfriend’s head game hinged on making another guy jealous, but they’re different, and that’s how they work. 

Changbin tugs at Han’s pants, the standard studio uniform of black joggers. Cause if they’re gonna be in the studio for twelve hours at a time, they might as well be comfortable. Han’s still soft, but he’s not worried. He’s 3racha’s fastest rapper and best dick sucker. 

Han interrupts all of that with a stolen kiss, and he’s almost grateful. Even though Chan’s indifference can get him worked up like  _ nothing  _ else, it’s nice to have his efforts reciprocated. Han knows it’s something quick and dirty, but kisses him so sweetly, like he’s gonna make love to him on this ugly love seat. Because of that Changbin lets him deepen the kiss almost instantly. He lets Han take what he wants, because what Han wants is what Changbin wants. 

It works well. They make out like that for a while, with Han bent over and Changbin straining upwards to meet him. Changbin palms him until he’s got a semi. When the next kiss breaks, its permission to move forward. 

Jisung grabs Changbin’s ball cap and turns it around backwards so that the brim shields his neck. “I’m not missing a thing babe.” 

Changbin smirks at him, but his confidence is marked by a faint blush across his cheeks. “Good.” 

Han guides himself into Changbin’s mouth like he invented sex. Changbin lets him because he loves to suck cock, and some things are just that simple. Changbin takes too much, letting the tip touch the back of his throat. 

“Easy now,” but Jisung makes no move to pull him off of his cock because he  _ loves  _ it when Changbin gags around him. “You’re gonna have to record later.” 

Changbin looks up at him with half-lidded eyes and bobs. Han’s cock is really the perfect cock to suck. It’s just the right size, and he always tastes and smells so musky. Serendipitously, Chan presses play on the melody he’d spent the better part of an hour concocting, the sound filling the tiny room on loop. 

“Oh, that’s so good baby.” 

He wanted this  _ so  _ badly, but old habits, like perfectionism, die hard. There’s something with Chan’s track that he just can’t...it’s missing something, and he’s pretty sure he knows what it is. Changbin pulls off of Han’s cock and calls over his shoulder, “Chan, what if you tried the double perc sample over this?” 

Han cuts in right away, because what is creation without discord? “No dude, it’s already really snare-y.” Because they’re goddamn professionals, and they talk like it. Of course, it comes out so breathy and disjointed. Changbin engulf’s Han’s cock once more. Holding the ridge of his cock between his lips, he flicks his tongue across the tip, over, and over, and over again. Changbin’s going to suck his brains out through his cock, demand his attention, and get his sample into the song. 

Chan responds to both of them in kind by putting on his headphones as if the sound of his boyfriends fooling around was more of an inconvenience than a turn on. Changbin, honest to god  _ moans  _ around Han’s cock at Chan’s dismissal. His desperation is fucking embarrassing, and that only turns him on more. 

Not having the option of baiting Chan, teasing him by making Jisung moan, Changbin is able to focus on Han. Bobs up and down on his cock steadily, letting it build, and build, and build until--”Bin--” he knocks Changbin’s ball cap askew and buries his finger in bleached out hair. “I’m gonna--” 

_ Fuck.  _ He’s so into it, he lets Han cum into his mouth. That’s something he  _ never  _ does because the taste is always so acrid. 

“Oh my god. Do you know that busting a nut in your mouth is like the best thing in the world? Better than pissing first thing in the morning. Better than back scratches. Better than brain freezes. Better than--” 

It’s hard to think with the post blow job fog in his mind. Giving good head is a high unto itself. Okay. He wants to get off. He wants to get back to work, and he wants to prove to Han that the double percussion sample would sound really good. 

Changbin straddles him, kisses him, and fills Han’s mouth with his own acrid cum. He’d do it even if he weren’t being vengeful. Cause it’s really, really hot. 

“Ew, Changbin that’s disgusting!” 

“If you ever ate a vegetable, it wouldn’t be so disgusting.” 

“No, it’s my fucking cum. That’s what makes it gross.” 

Changbin tugs at his own pants and underwear. The tip of his cock is stuck to the clammy damp patch of precum on his underwear that’s grown because of, and in spite of boyfriends. It catches on the waistband, bobs, and hits his stomach with a satisfying  _ thwack _ . Finally,  _ finally  _ free. 

“God, that’s awesome.” 

“You heard the boss’ orders Han. Stop fooling around and take it seriously.” He looks over his own shoulder as he chides Han, knowing full well that Chan  _ won’t  _ be watching them. The black beanie poking up over the back of the desk chair confirms. “Take care of it for him.”

“For him? Baby…” Han touches him now, and instantly Changbin’s reminded why this is just as good as if Han sucked him or fucked him. What other people might take for granted, Han turns into an art form. He cups his balls and gives a gentle tug. “I’m gonna do it for me.” Rubbing at his perineum, circling his hole, he husks into Changbin’s ear, “cause I really think you need reminding. Who’s gonna make you cum?” Finally,  _ finally _ Han curls his fingers around his cock. “Cause it’s not him.” 

Watching Han jerk him off always drives him crazy. Cause it’s not like when Chan envelops his cock in his hand; he looks absolutely huge against Han’s palm. 

“So who is it?” Han selects that exact moment to pump his cock. 

“You.” Changbin presses his forehead to Han’s. Sweaty skin slides against sweaty skin as he kisses Han sloppy and open-mouthed. 

“Who?” Han builds rhythm with him as if he were a melody. Pleasure is layered on pleasure, but purposefully so. Slow pumps down the length of his cock are alternated with addictive twisting motions. 

“You Han.” 

Sometimes you can feel the heat of someone watching you, even if you can’t see them. Changbin dare not look away from Han now, not when he’s so close. But the sensation that he feels at the base of his spine, nestled right next to that slow, building pressure, is unmistakable. Heat, faint and dangerous like reflected sunlight, is the only indicator that he has that Chan has  _ finally  _ stolen a glance. 

Changbin rocks up into those touches and responds to Han’s questions over and over again, his boyfriend’s name a prayer upon his lips.  “Han. Han. Han. Oh fuck--” And then he’s spilling all over Han’s hoodie. 

To him, payback for Han cumming in his mouth. For Han, another transgression that makes him question why he puts up with Changbin in the first place. 

“That’s right.” Satisfaction, rightfully creeps into Han’s tone. 

Han raises his hand to Changbin’s mouth. Changbin accepts immediately licking his own cum from his boyfriend’s hand. Then, when the moment of afterglow fades into sticky hands and cocks, he adds, “eating your own cum is weird.” 

“No it isn’t. It’s sexy.” 

“Maybe this is why your boyfriend has to outsource fucking you.” 

Changbin moves Han’s fingers so that he’s giving himself the middle finger. "You are, literally, the most disgusting person I know." Then he sucks the digit clean. 

They disentangle and rise from the love seat. Of course, Chan is right where they left him, completely focused on the track. 

But as they approach, Chan nudges his headphones off of his ears and rests them around his neck. “Better?” He rolls his chair back away from the desk, and Changbin knows him well enough to know that  _ this  _ is the invitation he was so desperately waiting for. 

Changbin sits in his boyfriend’s lap. Strong arms wrap around his middle. Chan rests his nose in the crook of Changbin’s shoulder and breathes in his scent. 

Chan’s hard. Not straining, barely just a semi, but he’s hard, and he’s letting Changbin feel. 

“So what did you decide?” Han stands behind Chan’s desk chair and rests his chin on Chan’s shoulder, completing the chin chain. 

“I made a few variations,” Chan doesn’t say if either of them “won,” double percussion or no double percussion. Well, it’s not that simple. He’ll probably make them listen to both, plus a few more versions, and they’ll debate for hours about the merits of each. “I think you should both do a few takes of your verses. Then we can decide.” 

Chan draws no attention to his situation, or the fact that his semi fills out nicely with Changbin in his lap. He’ll sit here dutifully into the early morning until they finally decide the song is finished. 

Energized by the power of his boyfriend’s cocks, Changbin likes the idea. “I’ll go first!” He rises quickly and almost trips over his feet to make it to the booth. 

Chan looks at him with equal parts warmth and hunger through the glass as he records. 

It’s a scene so classic that it’s full on become a cliche. The musician that really, really, just wants to make sweet love to his baby, but  _ can’t  _ because the beat is just too  _ sick,  _ it might up and die during the night if he leaves. The hot producer just wants to suck their dedicated, musician boyfriend’s dick, but  _ can’t  _ because he’s working. Chan is the artist, and Chan is the dejected muse. Here in Seoul, some of the best musicians repeat the same old scene. 


End file.
